The Bigger Brother
by abcdefuk-off
Summary: Sam had always thought that the moment he out-grew his big brother would be one of triumphant glee and smug satisfaction. He'd give Dean so much shit for being short, returning all the grief his brother had heaped on him for his small stature his entire damn life. But there was no joy to be found in this moment. Only fear. Pre-series. Hurt/Protective Sam and Hurt/Protective Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Dean was hurt.

That was all Sam could focus on, all he could _think_ about.

Which was making it increasingly difficult to fight off the creature that was currently attempting to devour him.

He swiped the perspiration from his eyes, while simultaneously attempting to dodge a set of snarling teeth. Making another jab with the machete, Sam was able to graze the monster, giving him a spare second to glance over his shoulder at the man who was still laid-out in the dirt.

Sam had been recovering from being chucked violently into a tree, trying to regain his bearings, when he had seen Dean crumple to the ground – prompting him to rise quickly and clumsily charge at the creature standing over his big brother. He hadn't been given a moment of reprieve to check on the older boy since then, he had no idea what condition Dean was in.

He just needed a glance to make sure his big brother was still breathing.

Bad idea.

Sam cried out as something sliced along his spine, ripping into his skin. He dropped to his knees, the pain of the wound overwhelming him for a moment as he blindly jabbed forward with the weapon in his hands, content when he made contact with something that caused the creature to release an ear-splitting noise. Sam quickly tucked and rolled across the dirt floor to create some distance between him and the newly-enraged monster.

"Sammy!"

The teen looked back long enough to see his brother trying and failing to get to his feet, Dean's face covered in blood, that was no-doubt impeding his vision. The sound of pain the younger boy had released must have roused the older hunter.

"Stay down, Dean!" He shouted, returning his attention to the approaching creature – vowing not to take his eyes off it this time around.

John Winchester would probably say that Sam deserved the injury he had received, because that was the consequence for taking his sights off the threat for even a moment. His father would be disappointed, but what else was new. Besides, why did it matter? It wasn't like the man was fucking there!

Sam shook the frustrated thoughts from his mind as he dodged another blow, crawling across the forest floor to avoid the sweeping limb that could easily send him flying into another tree. He glanced around, searching for either one of the shotguns that they had brought with them when they had come to scout the area- which was all they were meant to be doing, but the blood-thirsty monster had changed all that.

He spotted a shotgun resting about ten feet from his brother, who was _still_ trying to climb to his feet - and somehow Sam was always accused for being the stubborn one.

Sam faked left then dashed to the right, stumbling over roots and rocks as he charged forward. He was only a few feet away from the firearm when an impossibly strong force slammed into him and had him crashing down onto the unforgiving surface. Sam clawed at the ground, trying desperately to crawl out from beneath the creature perched on his back. He couldn't hold in a scream as he felt a set of razor-sharp teeth pierce his shoulder blade. He could feel them sinking in deep, and soon after, his blood being sucked from his body.

The teen fought harder to get free, struggling in every way he could think to escape the supernatural animal. But all the fighting did was raise Sam's blood pressure and give the creature more to drink. He stilled for a moment, trying to think his way out of the situation.

"Sam!"

He glanced over to see his brother wobble a few steps, looking around blindly, obviously unable to clearly see the battle happening several feet in front of him.

"Sam!" Dean called out once more, before collapsing back onto the ground.

Dean was hurt.

And if Sam got killed, his injured big brother would be easy pickings. That thought was all it took to revive the fight within the young hunter, igniting his desperation and renewing his strength.

Sam kicked and clawed, jerking away from the teeth biting into him, not caring about the waves of agony it sent through his entire body as the teeth tore further into him. After some work, Sam managed to get one his arms loose and snag the machete by his side, swinging it blindly behind him. The angle didn't allow for much power to be placed into the motion, but after a few swings he was able to inflict enough damage that the monster's mouth detached from his shoulder blade for just long enough for Sam to scramble a couple feet forward. He was stretched out, fingertips grazing the firearm, when the razor teeth reattached to the same spot on Sam's back and began sucking with a renewed force.

"Fuck." The teen cursed, gritting his teeth from the pain and fighting the weakness that was beginning to settle into his bones.

"Sammy!"

The cry was broken and desperate – Dean never sounded like that, and he never should.

Sam put all his focus and energy into his struggle, tossing the machete to the side and using both arms to launch himself forward, which only resulted in him moving about an inch, but that was all he needed to get a hold of the weapon. He pumped the shotgun before propping the butt of it on the ground and pointing it blindly over his shoulder as he pulled the trigger with trembling fingers.

The first shot caused the weight atop his back to jerk, but the teeth remained attached.

"Sam!"

The teen flinched at the scream. He'd never heard Dean sound like that and it sent chills through his entire body. Sam grit his teeth as he pumped the weapon again, angling it down another few inches before pulling the trigger once more.

His ears rang, the gun having gone off right next to his head, but the monster's mouth finally released him and the weight shifted enough off his back for Sam to flip himself around. He bit back a sound of pain as his wounds pressed against the ground and pumped the shotgun a third time, aiming it directly in front of him - right at the creature's deformed face.

The final shot did the job, the monster collapsing bonelessly to the forest floor. Sam laid there on his back for a moment, working to catch his breath. He let the firearm fall to the ground at his side, as he swiped his jacket sleeve over his face – he was covered in blood and whatever the fuck else had been in that fugly monster's head when he blew a hole through it, brain matter perhaps?

"Sammy!" The cry was just barely loud enough to make it through the ringing in Sam's ears and caused him to glance over at where his brother had been.

Dean was on his hands and knees, fighting to stand as he erratically turned his head from side to side, obviously searching out his little brother.

"M'here." Sam responded, unable to hear his own words, but pretty sure by the rumble in his head that something had come out of his mouth. He leveraged himself up into a seated position, kicking the creature's carcass off of his legs as he climbed to his feet, hissing softly at the pain radiating from the bite on his back while he stumbled over to his brother.

The teen reached out and placed his hand on Dean's back, only to have the hunter jerk away from his touch, arms flying up to defend himself.

"It's me, Dean. Just me." He placated.

"Sammy?" Dean slurred, turning to look up in the younger boy's general direction, the arms that had been blocking the touch now reaching for it.

"Right here." Sam sasured, dropping down to his knees.

"Y' alright?" Dean asked, his fingers clumsy as they searched Sam's chest and up to his neck.

Sam shook his head in fond exasperation – the older boy couldn't even fucking see or stand-up, but he thought somehow he was going to play doctor. He used the one sleeve of his jacket that was still sort of clean, to clear the blood from Dean's eyes. The hunter hissed as the fabric grazed his forehead.

"Bingo." Sam mumbled, having found the wound. He winced in sympathy at the deep gash across his brother's hairline that appeared to be the origin point for the frightening amount of blood.

_Head wounds bleed like a bitch_, he reminded himself – something Dean had told him half a dozen times.

Sam bent his head down, trying to get a look at Dean's eyes or - more specifically - his pupils. The green gaze wandered, always tracking back to Sam, but appearing unable to focus on him.

"Fuck." Sam cursed, his suspicions that his big brother was suffering from a brutal concussion officially validated.

"Sammy? Y'kay?" Dean slurred, frowning as his fingers found the blood covering the teen's neck, his unfocussed gaze having no trouble portraying his fear at the discovery.

"It's not mine, Dean. It's not mine." The younger boy assured, trying to remove his brother's hands from his face so he could get them up and moving.

"H-heard you. You're hurt. I know it." Dean argued, making a drunken attempt at a glare that would have had Sam laughing if it wasn't a symptom of a potentially fatal blow to the noggin.

"Yeah, well I'm better off than you. And hanging around here isn't helping either of us, so let's get moving." Sam prompted, biting back a groan of pain as he got to his feet before stretching his hand down to the hunter.

"Bossy." Dean accused, even as he reached up - he missed Sam's hand by about a foot, but the effort was appreciated.

Sam snagged his brother's flailing hand, and pulled Dean up to his feet. The older boy's legs held him for maybe three seconds before his knees buckled.

"Whoah!" Sam nearly collapsed under the force of his brother's full-weight, both Winchesters almost hitting the ground before the youngest was able to solidify his stance. "I've gotcha." Sam grunted, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling it over his shoulders. He frowned when the position didn't work the way it had too many times before. His shoulder was not fitting into Dean's armpit the way it had last time they had attempted this particular maneuver. Sam frowned as he glanced to his left to see if Dean was hunched over, checking to ensure his legs were straight.

That was the moment Sam Winchester realized he was taller than his big brother.

His father had predicted it back when he had been nothing more than a scrawny kid – Dean had laughed at the comment then, but Sam had been hopeful. Though, last year at sixteen he was still the shortest in most of his classes and had begun to agree with Dean on the matter of his height. He had been experiencing a growth-spurt the past several months; leave it to Sam to not achieve any sort of useful height until the age of seventeen.

Sam had always thought that the moment he out-grew his big brother would be one of triumphant glee and smug satisfaction. He'd give Dean so much shit for being short, returning all the grief his brother had heaped on him for his small stature his entire damn life.

But there was no joy to be found in this moment.

Only fear.

Sam couldn't be the big brother. How was he supposed to protect Dean? How was he supposed look out for him the same way he had always been looked out for? How was he supposed to carry all that weight?

Sure, he had always done his best to keep his big brother safe and healthy, and he always would, for the rest of his life – but he wasn't as good at it as Dean was. He wasn't as strong or as brave as the older boy, and he never would be. Sam could never live-up to being half the hunter or _person_ that his big brother was.

And maybe he was selfish, but Sam wasn't ready to live unprotected. He wasn't ready to lose the safety his big brother had always surrounded him in. He wasn't ready to go it alone.

"Sammy?" Dean slurred his head turning in the younger boy's direction.

Sam sniffed, not realizing how upset he was becoming. He clenched his jaw and reigned his emotions back in as he squatted down a little so that he would fit beneath his brother's arm. It was his responsibility to get Dean to safety and he would do that first and then figure out the rest later.

"Yeah, I'm here. I've gotcha. Let's go." Sam grunted as he began to move, maintaining a pace that the older boy's stumbled steps could keep up with.

They made it several feet before Dean suddenly stopped moving.

"Hey, c'mon, we've got to keep going." Sam prompted, trying to drag his brother along.

"Weapons." The hunter mumbled, making and uncoordinated kicking motion towards the machete that was lying on the ground a few feet away.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll come back for them."

"No."

"I've got to get you to the car first."

Dean shook his head, wincing as he did so. "No. Now."

Sam scowled, pulling Dean's arm further over his shoulder as the heavy frame began to slip away. "No, not now. I'll come back later, c'mon." Sam instructed, pulling at his brother. Dean stubbornly resisted, refusing to take so much as a single step.

"You're seriously going to be that much of an asshole about this?" Sam balked, glaring at the man to his left.

Dean nodded, clumsily swiping at the blood leaking down over his eyes.

"It's gotta be like two in the fucking morning, man, nobody is going to find the damn weapons." Sam growled, looking all around them to prove his point. He wasn't an idiot, if there was any danger of some kid stumbling over a shotgun he would grab it now, but it was fricken late and they were in the middle of nowhere; and he would run right back and grab the precious things after dropping his concussed dumb-ass of a brother off at the car.

"Sammy." Dean's voice was as clear and level as it had been since his blow to the skull, and it snagged Sam's frustrated attention. His brother's eyes were nearly focussed, but Sam could tell the concentration was taking a serious amount of effort on Dean's part.

"What?" He said, trying to put annoyance in his tone, but mostly it just came out sounding tired.

Dean heaved a deep breath, the hand not draped over Sam's right shoulder came up to rest on the side of the teen's neck – the clammy fingers only upping the younger boy's concern for his big brother. "You're not coming back here without me. Can't allow it. So you gotta get'em now, or we're leavin' em here."

Sam swallowed, feeling properly chastised that he had thought for one second that Dean's priority was the weapons and not what it had always been every damn day of his life - his kid brother.

"Okay, I'll get them, but we didn't bring the weapons' bag, so I don't know how I'm going to carry everything." The teen responded honestly, biting his lip anxiously, because he was supposed to be able to sort this shit out on his own now – he was supposed to be the protector, but he was looking to his big brother because he didn't know what to do.

"S'okay, buddy. I'll help ya." Dean assured with a twitch of a smile, lightly patting the side of Sam's face.

"You can't even stand on your own, Dean." Sam sighed, trying to hold the hunter up as he squatted down and snagged the machete, sliding it into his right beltloop, the one furthest from Dean.

Dean only grunted as Sam dragged him a few more feet forward and snagged the shotgun he had used to blow the monster's head off.

"No idea where mine is." Sam mumbled, glancing around.

"By the tree, where you got tossed." Dean said, concern clear on his bloodied face. Sam frowned, trying to remember which tree he'd been chucked into. He squinted through the dark, shaking his head in frustration.

"Alright well I've got to go look, so I'm going to set you down a second." He explained.

"I can stand."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Sam slowly eased away from his brother, alarmed but not surprised that the moment he took away his support, Dean began to go down.

"Whoah, okay." Sam grunted as he grabbed onto the older boy, slowing his descent to the ground.

"Meant to do that." Dean grunted as he was situated on the forest floor.

"Sure you did." The teen quipped, reaching forward to swipe more blood from Dean's eyes before handing him the shotgun. Dean's fingers were uncoordinated and his grip was clumsy, but he managed to keep hold of the firearm.

"Be quick." Dean ordered, looking up at the teen. Sam resisted rolling his eyes, knowing the ridiculously unnecessary demand was coming from a place of concern, but that only made it slightly less annoying.

"I thought I'd take my time about it, because it's just so much fun out here." Sam drawled sarcastically.

"Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam responded, patting his brother's chest in a silent promise to do as instructed, before making his way back to where he thought he had been tossed, though landmarks are difficult to make out when one is sailing rapidly through the air.

It took a couple minutes, but eventually Sam was able to track down the shotgun he had brought with him on the so-called scouting mission. He reached down to grab it, but before he was able to wrap his fingers around the metal, he found himself on his knees. A wave of dizziness came over him, blurring the world around him and had him fighting to stay even remotely upright.

"Shit." He hissed softly, blinking erratically in an attempt to bring the world back into focus. He didn't have time for this. He didn't have time to be weak. He had to get up and get going and get his brother to safety. Sam steeled his resolved, grabbing onto the shotgun and forcing himself to his feet.

He made his way back where he came, it was too dark to see Dean until he was only a few feet away; but once he was close enough, the sight of his brother renewed his strength and quickened his steps.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, it's me." The teen greeted, not at all comforted by the fact that his brother was still having trouble focussing.

The shotgun dipped from where it had been pointed up in Sam's general direction.

"Took ya long 'nough." Dean complained. "Y'alright?" He asked after a breath, face scrunched in concern – which was beginning to become the older boy's permanent expression.

"I'm fine. Let's just get you out of here, okay?" Sam muttered, desperate to get Dean to safety before the younger boy's body gave out on him. Sam had been injured enough times to understand the effects of blood-loss and he knew full-well that not even the power of his stubborn mind could save him from the inevitable.

"We should burn it." Dean rasped, nodding towards the dead creature.

"I'm not starting a fire in a fucking forest and I'm not wasting anymore time out here."

"Someone might find it." Dean pointed out quietly, turtling into his coat as he shivered. Sam reached forward and pulled his brother's jacket tighter around his chest.

"It's not a pack animal – probably one of a kind, worse case scenario someone finds the body and the town has something to gossip about for the next couple years."

Dean smirked. "Let's go then, little brother."

Sam nodded a small grin pulling at his lips. Before hauling his brother up to his feet, Sam reached out to flick on the safety for the shotgun in his brother's hands.

"You baby-proofing for me, Sam?" Dean growled, scowling up at the teen.

Sam shrugged, as he grabbed his brother's right arm and pulled it over his shoulders, satisfied when Dean managed to grip the younger boy's coat, freeing Sam up to reach back down and wrap his arm around the hunter's waist.

"Just making sure you don't put a hole in your foot." The teen muttered once the two brothers were finally standing and walking – or rather, stumbling – forward. The comment earned him a look from his brother that Sam did not have the time or energy to decipher.

The Winchesters made their way through the wooded area, the progress slow but the best that they could manage. Dean stumbled over a root or something that nearly sent both boys to their knees, Sam just barely able to plant his feet and maintain a strong enough grip on the concussed hunter to keep him vertical.

"Sorry." Dean murmured.

Sam shook his head, white-knuckling his grip on the waistband of Dean's pants and pulling the older boy closer as they forged on.

The teen had to stop at one point, frowning as he gazed around the dark area, wishing that he had an extra hand to hold the flashlight in his pocket – but knowing that wasn't an option, both boys needing at least one hand to hold onto each other and the other to grip the shotguns. Sam frowned, unsure of which way to go and inwardly cursing himself for not having that innate sense of direction that both Dean and their father had always possessed.

Just further proof that Sam was never meant to be a hunter.

"Left." Dean stated, his grip on Sam's jacket tightening as he swayed slightly.

"I should have known that." Sam muttered as he moved them down the proper path.

Dean gave him another odd look, but it only lasted a couple seconds before he was concentrating back down on the ground beneath their feet – probably in an effort to not trip on anything else.

The journey back to the location where the Impala had been parked seemed to take far longer than the trip in, but eventually they made it. They arrived at the clearing, to the black car that was only visible thanks to the moonlight being reflected off of it.

"That's a girl." Dean praised, as Sam propped him up against the vehicle.

"Yeah, yeah. You can get reacquainted later. Now is not the time." The teen muttered, patting down his brother's pockets in search of the keys.

"Gotta buy me dinner before you get handsy, dude – something you would know if you ever took your nose out of a book long enough to take anyone on a date."

Sam straightened up to level a glare at the older boy, relieved to hear him finally communicating in full sentences, but not thrilled at the unnecessary dig. Dean simply chuckled, keeping a stabilizing hold on the younger boy and leaning the shotgun up against the door as he slid his free hand into one of his jean pockets and pulled out the keys. Sam snatched the keys, shifting the shotgun out of the way before he hauled the door open.

"Get in."

Dean frowned, moving his hand up to wipe the blood out of his face but Sam intervened, swatting the limb away.

"Don't touch it. Your hands are filthy, that cut will get infected." He chastised.

Dean opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Sam didn't give him the chance as he manhandled the wide frame down into the passenger's seat. The hunter cursed out a few complaints but Sam simply pushed the car door closed as he moved to the trunk, tossing the weapons inside and removing the first-aid kit. He bit back a cry of pain as he reached up to close the trunk lid, the stretch causing his wounds to pull and bringing forth the agony he had been working so hard to push away.

Sam took a just few seconds to breathe and compose himself before making his way to the front of the vehicle and sinking slowly down behind the wheel. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from making a sound as he settled into the seat.

"What's wrong with you?"

Sam turned to see his brother staring over at him. He had thought for a second he hadn't efficiently schooled his expression, but quickly realized there was no way Dean could see him properly with all that blood constantly dripping into his eyes.

"Nothing." Sam dismissed, flipping open the box on his lap, pulling out a wad of gauze and the bottle of antiseptic.

"Bullshit, you're breathing weird."

Sam rolled his eyes, because of course Dean couldn't see or properly focus but somehow still managed to pick up on his little brother's fucking _breathing_. How was Sam ever supposed to accomplish that level of protection? How could he ever take care of Dean even a fraction as well as he took care of Sam?

Sam tried to swallow down his fear and frustration as he doused the gauze with the alcohol infused liquid.

"Close your eyes." He instructed just seconds before wiping the blood off his brother's forehead.

"Fuck!" Dean shouted, moving to pull away, but Sam snagged his chin to keep his head still.

"Almost done." Sam stated, not unsympathetically, he knew how unpleasant that sting of disinfectant could be.

Dean made a sound in the back of his throat that was probably meant to be threatening, but Sam paid it no mind as he carefully sanitized the wound and cleaned away the blood that had leaked out of it and dripped all over the freckled face.

"There. That'll do until we get to the hospital." Sam announced, satisfied now that his brother wasn't quite as covered in blood.

"No hospital."

"Head wound, Dean."

"I'm fine."

"What's rule number five?"

"Don't be quoting my own damn rules to me."

"We don't fuck with headwounds." Sam recited, pulling more gauze from the med-kit before tossing it in the backseat.

"Fine, you want to quote rules – big brother knows best."

Sam huffed. "That's not a rule, that's just some arbitrary declaration you like to make."

"Still applies!" Dean argued.

"Not so much anymore." Sam mumbled under his breath, carefully folding the gauze in his hands into a rectangle.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped back, wincing as he did, probably because talking so damn loud caused the pain in his head to escalate.

"Hold this against your forehead." Sam instructed, ignoring the outburst as he handed the medical material over.

Dean begrudgingly took the gauze, but continued glaring over at Sam. "I don't know what the hell is up with you, but I ain't going to a damn hospital."

"Dean—

"It's not fucking happening, Sam."

"Head wound—

"Concussion. I've had dozens."

"Yeah, because _that_ makes it better." Sam huffed, guiding the Impala out onto the unlit country road.

"I swear, if you pull up to a hospital, I'll—

"You'll what? Sit there and pout until I drag your ass inside?" Sam countered, glancing over at his brother.

"Yeah, right. Even if you could manage that – how exactly would you explain all the blood you're covered in?"

Sam frowned, because Dean had finally made a valid point. Sam was covered in blood and he couldn't be walking into a hospital like that without having the cops called on him. It wouldn't take long for the doctors to figure out that all that blood couldn't have come from Dean. The wound on Sam's back would be a sensible origin injury, but it would be difficult to explain how the blood ended up all over Sam's neck and chest – not too mention the brain matter that was probably encrusted into his clothing by this point.

"Sammy." The tone was a bit softer and had the teen glancing over. "I'm alright."

"Tell that to your face." Sam replied, bothered by the blood that was beginning to drip once again down his brother's pale complexion.

"Head wounds bleed like a bitch, you know that."

Sam bit his lip as he rounded a dark bend on the gravel road, because yeah, he knew that.

"It's a concussion, everything is a bit fuzzy and my head is killing me. But nothing is off, Sam, okay? Nothing beyond a run-of-the-mill concussion."

Sam pressed his mouth into a thin line, trying not to mention the fact that it was messed-up as fuck that Dean was so familiar with what concussions felt like.

"It's not a big deal."

"That argument would be more convincing if you didn't slur your way through it."

"Seriously, though—

"I get it, okay? _ I get it_." Sam relented.

"Okay." Dean spoke after a moment, sounding relieved as he leaned back against the seat, the gauze still being held uselessly in his hand.

"But if you don't start putting pressure on that thing, I'm driving your stupid-ass to the hospital right now, no matter how much shit it might get me into." Sam vowed.

Dean grumbled something about bossy kid brothers before finally placing pressure on the laceration across his forehead.

Sam was tempted to roll his eyes, but instead decided to count his blessings that the older boy was finally listening to him, at least partially. But, hey, it'd been a shitty night and Sam would take what he could get. And right now, Dean obediently staunching the blood from pouring down his face, was as could as life could get for Sam Winchester.

And wasn't that just fucking fantastic?

"Don't ride the breaks." The order was gruff and spoken between yawns.

"What?" Sam croaked, leaning forward a bit more to put some distance between his injured back and the leather seat.

"You always ride the breaks when you drive. It's not good for my baby."

Sam snorted in irritation and was ready to deny the accusation, while also pointing out that how would Dean even know that because he never let Sam drive, but his thoughts were diverted by Dean's closed eyes.

"Hey, stay awake." He instructed, nudging the older boy.

Dean grunted, but made no further response.

Sam pressed on the breaks until they squealed in complaint.

"What the fuck did I just tell you?!" Dean snapped, eyes flying open.

"You stay awake, or I'll ride the breaks all night long."

Sam met Dean's scowl with his own stern side-eye until the older boy sat up a tad straighter, keeping pressure on his injury as he forced his eyes open a little wider.

Sam eased off the breaks in response, doing his best to treat his brother's prized possession with care as he proceeded to direct it down the hill and over the bridge.

The teenager kept the music off, though he was dying to turn on something Dean hated because of another one of his brother's rules - having to do with shotguns and cake holes – but he could tell by the way Dean was cradling his head that additional noise was not a good idea.

So Sam settled in for a silent journey through the pitch-dark backroads.

"Sam!"

The teen jerked to attention, blinking his eyes owlishly at the road that had faded from focus.

"If I have to stay awake, so do you, kiddo. Don't go fading when you're behind the wheel." Dean declared, the instruction soft rather than demanding.

"Yeah. M'sorry." Sam mumbled, digging his knuckle into his eye, as he struggled to fight the fatigue that was threatening to pull him under.

"You alright?" Dean rasped.

"M'fine, just tired."

"You're pale." The older boy observed.

Sam glanced to his right, eyebrow raised. "So are you." He replied.

Dean pressed his lips together, clearly not buying the response, though he didn't make one of his own. His bright green eyes didn't stray for the boy behind the wheel, his expression tight with worry.

Sam would be lying if he said he wasn't comforted by his brother's blatant concern, but he couldn't give-in to his injuries right now. He couldn't curl into a ball and let Dean take over. He couldn't step back and stand behind the older boy and allow the battle to be fought for him.

Life wasn't going to work that way any longer.

Sam was the bigger brother now.

He had to act like it.

And it was fucking terrifying.

But for Dean, he would do it.

For Dean he would do _anything_.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was hurt.

Dean could tell, because he fucking knew the kid, and even though his skull was pounding and his vision kept blurring, he still knew that there was something going on with his little brother.

The teen looked pale, though that was difficult to make out in the dark night, Dean was still fairly certain the pallor of Sam's skin wasn't right. Sam appeared to be holding himself stiffly in the driver's seat, which was how the older boy had noticed when his brother began to drift off, because his body had begun to slump as his eyelids drooped.

He had heard Sam scream – he was pretty sure… no, he was _certain_. The world had been foggy and he hadn't been able to see a damn thing, but Dean could not forget Sam's cry of pain.

It had been fucking terrifying, hearing his brother in agony – knowing his kid was being hurt only steps in front of him and not being able to get his body to cooperate long enough to help. He had been completely helpless to protect his little brother and had been forced to fight to stand while his entire world was being threatened.

Dean would have nightmares about that moment for years, he knew it.

But he swallowed that fear, shoving it aside to haunt him at another time, a time when he didn't need to concentrate every ounce of focus and energy on staying awake and keeping an eye on Sammy.

He scanned the thin frame next to him, trying to spot the injury that he knew had to be hiding somewhere. It certainly didn't help that Sam's front was covered in blood, and sure, he had told Dean that it wasn't his but the kid was being frustratingly stubborn. He was being evasive and projecting and not listening to a damn thing that came out of his older brother's mouth. The take-control attitude was one thing, it had been necessary with Dean down and out, and the hunter understood that, but the brashness and dismissive nature was new for Sam and the elder Winchester was not a fan.

He didn't know why the hell Sam was being so tight-lipped about the injury Dean knew he had to be suffering from. The kid used to play that game with John, pretending that he was fine as to not disappoint their father; but Sam had never once pulled that shit with him before – with Dean he had always been honest, especially about serious things like injuries.

He watched a shiver run through the slim frame and immediately reached forward to nudge the heat up another notch. Dean couldn't tell if Sam's hands were shaking, or if it just looked that way because his vision kept fading in and out of focus.

"Dean! Stay awake."

The older boy scowled at the noisy command. "I am awake."

"Looked like you were zoning out on me for a second there."

"Was just tryin' t'figure out wat the hell is wrong with you." Dean responded, giving some honesty in the hopes that he'd get some.

"I told you I'm fine."

Dean nodded, regretting the movement the moment he did and pressing his hand to his head to both continue to staunch the blood and to steady the bowling ball on top of his neck. "You lied." He accused, wishing his voice had a little more power to it.

Sam made an irritated noise, but when he glanced over his expression morphed from pinched to something a bit more sympathetic. "How about you just focus on you for a second." Sam instructed.

Dean was about to call Sam out on the asshole attitude he had going on, when suddenly a large figure darted out onto the road, Sam swerved to dodge what Dean recognized to be a deer. The rapid vehicular maneuver was executed brilliantly and successfully avoided the animal, but it caused the unsteady hunter to slam his head into the passenger window. Any other day the jarring contact would've been something Dean could have shaken off in a matter of seconds, but with his skull already damaged, the second hit sent a lightening strike of pain through his brain and had the world spinning out of focus.

Dean just barely registered the fact the car had stopped moving before opening the door and climbing – or rather tumbling – from the vehicle, making it a couple stumbled steps away before he promptly dropped to his knees and vomited.

He felt a hand rest against his back as he proceeded to hurl onto the gravel, the gentle touch helping to ground him and steady his surroundings, the nausea finally settling.

"Fuck." He cursed, spitting the rancid taste from his mouth as he panted through the pain.

He felt hands grab onto his upper-arms and gently but forcefully pushing him until he had moved from his position on all fours to sitting on his ass. He used his freed hands to cradle his pounding noggin, willing away the discomfort as he squeezed his eyes closed. He could faintly hear a familiar voice muttering a near constant string of apologies in the background, and while he really wanted to know what the fuck Sam thought he was supposed to be sorry for, he simply needed a minute to collect himself before making such an inquiry.

He must have checked-out for a minute, because Dean was startled by the skinny fingers that pulled one of his hands away from his head and wrapped it around what he quickly determined to be a plastic water-bottle. Dean moved to take the top off, only to realize it had already been removed, before taking a few sips of the cool beverage. The bottle was relinquished from his shaky grasp the moment he no longer required it. He wiped the back of hand over his mouth and finally opened his eyes. A bright worried hazel gaze was there to greet him when the world finally came into focus. He also saw a skinny arm stretched across his vision and belatedly realized that Sam was applying pressure to the slice across the older boy's forehead.

The kid was getting eerily good at looking after him, and Dean wasn't yet sure how he felt about that.

"You alright?" The teen whispered, shifting closer so that he was squatted between Dean's outstretched legs.

"Yeah, m'good." Dean confirmed, wishing his voice hadn't slurred quite as intensely, but at least he was able to get the damn words out.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Dean."

The hunter frowned at the apology. "What?" He croaked, squinting up at the young face that hovered over him.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the car." Sam prompted.

Before Dean could begin to form any sort of response, there were hands sliding into his armpits and lifting him from the ground. Dean muttered a string of curses, his shoes scrambling against the tarmac until he suddenly found himself seated back in the passenger seat, his shoulder rested against the leather backrest as his feet remained planted on the gravel.

"What the fuck, Sam?" He growled, head in his hands as he tried once again to steady the world around him.

"Couldn't leave you sprawled out in the road all night." The teen muttered, from where Dean could hear him rummaging around in the backseat.

The older boy scowled, because he was very aware of that, and while it was completely in Sam's nature to take care of Dean and look after him – he wasn't usually such a bully about it. Dean felt the wet wad of gauze being pulled from his fingers, and looked up to see what was going on, but before he could ask Sam was pressing a dry bunch of gauze to his injury.

"Hold that there." The younger boy instructed.

Dean was less than impressed with the command, but reluctantly did as he was told. He glared up irritably at his little brother as he obediently placed pressure against his injury. Sam looked down at him and rolled his eyes before he made to move away. Dean watched as the teen wobbled unsteadily on his feet, before going down, just barely managing to slow his descent by grabbing hold of Dean's knee.

"Sam? What's wrong?" Dean asked, panic leaking into his tone as fear shot through him. He reached forward to grasp his brother's shoulder just as Sam began to stand, resulting in Dean missing his target by a few inches. The moment his fingers came into contact with the younger hunter's shoulder blade, Sam released a strangled cry as he dropped back down onto his knees.

Dean pulled his hand back as though it had been burned. He had hurt Sam. It had been unintentional, sure, but he had caused his little brother pain and that went against every fiber of his being.

"Sammy? What's wrong? C'mon, talk to me, kiddo. Please." He begged as he reached out and tentatively placed his hand on top of the one Sam had gripping his knee – nervous to cause any further harm but needing to offer some degree of comfort.

"S'okay. M'fine." The teen rasped, making a second attempt to get to his feet, but quickly appearing to lose strength and collapse. Dean reached out, wrapping his arms around the slim frame and promptly pulling it towards him to keep his kid from connecting with the unforgiving pavement.

"I've got you." He promised, still having no fucking clue what was going on, but needing Sam to know he was safe.

He felt the younger boy paw at his chest as those skinny legs kicked fruitlessly at the ground. Dean shifted back on the bench seat, bringing Sam with him so that his brother could settle on the leather between the hunter's legs. Dean made sure to keep his hold low on Sam's waist, not wanting to place pressure anywhere near the injury he knew was hiding somewhere on the narrow back. He spent just a minute sitting there, his pounding skull fighting for his attention, but it didn't stand a chance at stealing his focus away from his kid brother – nothing ever had or ever would be able to do that.

Sammy came first.

Always.

"M'fine." Sam muttered, attempting to pull away, but Dean tightened his hold.

"Like hell you are." Dean snapped. Sam had always been one to put on a brave face and pull this kind of shit, but never to such an extent that he was today. And Dean was done with it.

"M'okay, De. Lemme up." Sam instructed pushing weakly at Dean's chest, the lack of strength in the movement doing absolutely nothing to support the claim being made.

"Yeah, sure, the slur you've got going there really has me convinced." Dean grumbled.

"I'm fine. Let me up." Sam declared, his voice clear as could be (the little shit) as he looked up at the older boy, seeming to attempt a glare, but only pain came across clearly on the pale face.

"Not until you show me your back." Dean argued.

Sam scowled.

"I know you're hurt. I don't know why the fuck you are lying to me about it, but I _know_ that you're hiding an injury and I'm not letting you get away with it for another second."

"It's not a big deal."

Dean's hand clenched, Sam's jacket bunching beneath his grip as he tried to reign in his frustrated furry. "You can't fucking walk, Sam." He bit out.

"I could, if you'd just let me go."

Dean levelled his kid with a vicious glare. He was having a difficult time remembering ever being as furious with his little brother as he was in that moment. How fucking dare Sam be so dismissive about his injury. He had collapsed and cried-out and the teenager had one hell of a pain tolerance, so that shit wouldn't just happen for no reason. He had been all over Dean, taking care of the wound on his head as well as the concussion he was fighting – but _refused_ to so much as be honest about his own condition.

Sam was Dean Winchester's entire fucking world, and he had no right to be so callous about his own life.

No. Damn. Right.

The hazel gaze met his green one, and while it didn't hold the confidence it often did in an argument, it was far from contrite.

"Show me your back." Dean ordered once again.

"You don't get to do that anymore." Sam replied, the words sounded as though they should have been said in that overly-independent tone the kid had championed since he was twelve years old, but the young voice actually sounded damn near mournful. Dean frowned, spotting both fear and misery shimmer through his brother's eyes, and not having any idea how to respond to it. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was going on with Sam physically or mentally and if he didn't know what the problem was – if he didn't know the source of the pain or the fear, how the fuck was he supposed to fix it!? He was at a total loss in a way he had hardly ever been with his little brother.

He was failing Sam.

And that was unacceptable.

He opened his mouth to ask the teen what the hell he was talking about, but before he had the chance, the skinny frame wiggled free of his grip and stood from the car.

"Sam." Dean called, trying to pull his brother closer with the hold he still had on his coat.

"I'm okay. Let go. We've got to get going."

"No." Dean grit out, distractedly swiping his sleeve over his eyes, trying to get rid of the blood he could feel dripping down his brow.

"Shit, I need to get you more gauze. You dropped yours on the ground." Sam stated, pulling away.

Panic trickled through Dean's bloodstream, for some reason he felt as though if he didn't keep Sam close, if he didn't find out what was wrong now then something terrible would happen. He forced himself forward on the bench seat and onto his feet, agony searing through his brain at the sudden movement, but he ignored it as he took an unsteady step forward.

"Fucking hell, Dean, what are you doing? Sit down, you're going to start hurling again."

Dean shook his head, which he quickly realized was a terrible idea, because it sent the earth spinning for a moment as he stumbled slightly. And suddenly the teenager who had been fighting to get away, couldn't get close enough as he moved right back into Dean's space and his thin fingers wrapped around hunter's upper arms.

"Whoah, careful. You need to sit down before you fall down." He said as he attempted to push Dean back a step.

The older boy resisted. "No. Not until you show me your back." He stated, blinking slow as the world around him finally began to slide back into focus.

"Dean, we don't have time for this."

Dean opened his mouth to call bullshit, but Sam continued before he had the chance.

"And there's nothing you can do about it here anyways. So just wait until we get back to the house."

Dean was tempted by the logic of that argument, but the ghostly pallor of his little brother's skin had him denying the request – there were a great many things in life that could wait, things that Dean could place on the back burner until time could be found to address them, but Sammy had _never_ been one of those things.

The kid always took priority.

"No. Now." Dean grunted, his hands nudging Sam's hips to get the boy turned around.

"Fine, okay? Fine! But sit the fuck down first." Sam hissed, the elder Winchester imagined the exclamation would have been shouted and knew it only hadn't been because even in his anger, Sam was still being considerate towards his concussed big brother.

Something Dean was ridiculously grateful for.

He allowed himself to be gently pushed back down into the car. He sat on the edge of the passenger seat, his grip on Sam's arms unyielding to keep the teen from going back on his word and walking away before showing Dean his injury.

Sam frowned down at the older boy, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and Dean wouldn't be surprised by that because Sammy had been able to read him since the kid was barely old enough to string a full sentence together.

"You're going to have to let go of my arm if you want me to strip." Sam pointed out, eyebrow raised.

Dean rolled his eyes and as he released his grip.

Sam breathed a long sigh, easily pulling his left arm out of his coat sleeve, but as he went to do the same with the right, he hissed in pain. Dean frowned, reaching up, swatting at his brother's hands as he helped to pull the jacket off in a much slower and gentler fashion than Sam had been executing.

He frowned at the warm sticky damp spots on the back of the coat, knowing that they were splotches of blood but unable to see it in the dark. He put the jacket aside for later inspection and helped Sam rid of his shirt, Dean's mind flashing back to all the times he had helped a squirmy little ankle-biter in and out of his clothes – a fierce wave of protectiveness washing over him at the recollection.

He dropped the long-sleeve shirt in the footwell and tugged the flashlight out of his own jacket pocket. He flicked it on and pointed it in front of him, lighting up his brother's torso as he watched the thin body shiver, Sam wrapping his arms around himself to create some protection from the cold night air.

"Turn." Dean instructed, poking at Sam's side, ignoring the irritated huff he received and watching closely as the boy turned around.

The first thing Dean caught sight of, the first thing illuminated by the beam of light from the battery-powered torch in his hands, was a long laceration along the bottom half of his little brother's spine.

"Shit, Sammy." He whispered, his fingers deftly skimming along his brother's skin until they found the injury – his blurry vision making it difficult to peg its precise position. He frowned as he traced the length of the laceration. There was no way that didn't sting like a bitch. There was dried blood surrounding the wound as well as a fresh trickle dripping from the bottom half of it and running down to add to the red stain growing on the waistband of the teen's jeans. The entire cut wasn't too deep but there were a few inches at the bottom that could use a stitch or two. It was definitely made by one of the beast's long-ass talons, and Dean made a note to disinfect it, because there was no telling what kind of filth could have entered it by this point. It looked painful, but Dean didn't think it was the reason for his little brother's pale and clammy skin. The older boy squinted in concentration as he moved the flashlight side-to-side, before he trailed it up Sam's spine. That was when he spotted more red markings on the teen's right shoulder. He frowned as he reached out, wrapping a hand around Sam's bony hip and gently guiding him back a step. He could see the blood, it wasn't an alarming amount, but he was unsure about what type of injury it was originating from. Dean scooted back on the bench seat and gently tugged Sam down towards him, the teen was too damn tall for the older boy to get a clear view of his shoulder blade.

Sam grunted a confused sound as he glanced over his shoulder.

"I can't see that high up on your back, so if you don't want me standing up again, I suggest you sit your ass down." Dean elaborated as he tugged at Sam's left arm until the slim frame finally took a seat between the hunter's outstretched legs.

"Bossy." Sam pouted.

"Ha! Like you can talk. You've been giving all sorts of commands tonight." Dean muttered as he shone the flashlight at the injury he had been trying to make out. He frowned at the deep punctures, skating his fingertips over them, apologizing softly as Sam flinched at the touch. They puncture wounds weren't bleeding a lot because of how narrow they were, but they looked torn-up and there were several of them all evenly spread out in the same area. It was only due to his lingering concussion that it took Dean so long to figure out exactly how such an injury could have come about.

"Fuck!" He snapped after he finally realized what had happened. "That fucker bit you." He growled. It wasn't a question but he saw the shaggy head nod in confirmation.

Dean's stomach twisted as he realized now why his kid had screamed back in the forest and why he was so concerningly pale now. The creature had bitten into the teen's shoulder blade and fucking drank from him.

"Shit, Sammy. You should have told me." He said, having no idea how much blood the monster had managed to steal from his kid, but knowing it was enough that the boy was pale and shaky and unsteady on his feet. Which meant it was too fucking much.

"Nothing you could do." Sam mumbled.

Dean clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. "That doesn't mean you don't fucking tell me."

Sam sent a look over his shoulder that Dean didn't have enough light or energy to decipher. He shook his head, swallowing his frustration as he reached over into the backseat and snagged the first-aid kit. He was less than surprised to see there was next to no gauze in the container, Sam had no doubt used almost all of it on Dean's own little head wound. Dean frowned and reached down to snag the long-sleeve shirt he had recently discarded, the back of it was spotted with blood, but the front was still clean – Sam's jacket must have saved it from the creature's filth. The older boy grabbed the scissors from the kit and began cutting out the clean section of the fabric.

"Hey! That's my shirt." Sam whined.

"And now it's a rag." Dean surmised as he grabbed a water bottle and used it to wet the folded shirt scrap. He used the make-shift cloth to clean the blood off of Sam's back, scrubbing gently at the dried blood around the injuries. He took the shirt and refolded it so the dirty side was concealed before wetting it once more and handing it to his brother. "Here, clean your face and your neck and wherever else that monster bled on you."

Sam's grip was weak but he took the damp fabric and began to clean himself up.

Dean nodded as he uncapped the bottle of disinfectant, satisfied the kid was listening to instruction without argument for like the first fucking time that night.

"Hey, Sam."

"Yeah?" The teen grunted.

"What's the difference between a porcupine and a BMW?"

"What are you-

Dean used the moment of the teenager being distracted, to uncap the bottle of disinfectant and poor it liberally over the open wounds on the narrow back.

"Shit." Sam hissed, his thin frame trembling as his hand dropped down and white-knuckled the leg of Dean's jeans.

"I still got it." Dean cackled, even though his face was twisted in sympathy as he moved down to the laceration along his brother's spine.

"Asshole." Sam grit out, pain in his voice as he shivered, either from the cold or the sting – probably both.

"Breathe through it, Sammy." The hunter whispered as he finished sanitizing the wound and then used a clean piece of gauze to dab the injuries dry.

"Don't use all of that, I need another piece for your head." Sam instructed, craning his neck over his shoulder – no doubt to ensure there was still some gauze left.

"My head is fine." Dean sighed, pulling tape from the first-aid-kit so he could stick the folded medical material to the recently dried skin.

"Tell that to the blood pouring down your face, moron."

Dean rolled his eyes, ripping off a piece of tape with his teeth as he held the gauze on the injury with one hand and tried to keep a steady grip of the flashlight with the other.

"I'm serious, Dean, don't use it all!" Sam ordered, twisting around.

"Fine! Just stay the hell still for like a fucking second, and I promise to leave some gauze." Dean compromised, trying to keep the younger boy still so he could finish securing the temporary bandage.

Sam grunted an irritated sound, but faced himself forward and then stopped moving long enough for Dean to finish what he was doing. He looked into the backseat, spotting one of his sweaters wedged underneath his brother's backpack. He took the medkit off his lap and stretched his arm around the slim form still seated between his legs.

"Here's your precious gauze." He waited for Sam to take the container before stretching into the backseat, snagging the sleeve of the hoodie and tugging on it, grunting as it refused to slide out from beneath the weight. "You keep way too much in that bookbag." He mumbled as he pulled harder until the clothing came free.

"What are you whining about?" Sam asked.

"Nothing." Dean said with a smirk as he settled back in place, rolling the bottom of the sweater up to the neck hole, which he then tugged over the shaggy head.

"Dean." Sam huffed past the fabric.

"That's my name, kiddo, don't wear it out." The hunter quipped.

"Okay, let me see your head." Sam stated as he turned around.

"Dude, can you at least finish putting the sweater on first? It's freezing out here."

"Well I wasn't the one who wanted to go taking off my jacket."

"Oh, I'm sorry – do you want to put that back on? I'm sure blood and guts are high fashion these days, not too mention quite the cologne."

Sam rolled his eyes, but slid his left arm through the sleeve, graciously allowing Dean to help him get his right arm through so that he didn't disrupt the injury on his shoulder blade. The older boy didn't even have time to breathe before a hand was pressing against his forehead.

He hissed, feeling slender fingers grab onto his hand and lift it up to his face.

"Hold that there and _keep_ it there, you look like the dumb-jock in every horror movie after he gets attacked by a hatchet."

Dean's face scrunched up at the comment. "That was an oddly specific insult." He muttered to himself, holding the gauze to his persistently leaking head wound as he watched Sam close the med-kit and toss it in the back before slowly moving to stand from the car. Dean physically bit his lip to keep from warning the teen to be careful as he shakily got to his feet.

"Keep pressure on that until I get you to the hospital."

Dean was glad that he wasn't going to have to fight to get the moron to the hospital – heaven knows how much blood he had lost, and that was not something Dean could fix. Unfortunately, blood-loss boy was delusional as fuck if he thought Dean was going to let his pale ass behind the wheel.

"Bro, I'll be the one taking _you_ to the hospital." Dean declared.

Sam stumbled slightly as he bent down to glare into the car at his older brother. "You're the one going to the hospital." He specified.

"I'm not the one who got fed on by that fugly monster." Dean pointed out.

"Yeah, and I'm not the one who just hurled all over the road. Your concussion is obviously a bigger deal than you let on and you need to see a doctor. I shouldn't have let you talk me out of taking you there in the first place." Sam argued – the damn soon-to-be-lawyer at work again. "You always minimize your injuries."

"At least I don't hide them!" Dean snapped.

"You probably would have if you could." Sam replied.

"Like you did!?" Dean accused.

Sam's gaze darkened but he made no defense, likely because he couldn't think of one.

"Look, buddy, you can barely stand, okay?" Dean said, his tone less argumentative as he made his final appeal, they didn't have time to keep arguing on the side of the road like this.

"Luckily, I don't need to stand to drive." Sam responded. "Now pull your legs in so I can close this." He instructed as he put his hand on the passenger door.

"No! You're not driving!" Dean countered, shifting out of the vehicle.

Sam scowled down at the older boy for a moment until his face smoothed out and he calmly placed a hand on Dean's chest, pressing firmly enough to prevent the older boy from moving any further. The teen took his other hand off the doorframe and held the keys out in front of his brother.

"Reach out and grab these on the first try, and I'll let you drive."

Dean clenched his jaw and focussed on the challenge. The concussion had his vision pretty fucked up and his hand-eye coordinating wasn't at its finest, but he could do this. He squinted at the dangling object for nearly a full minute before he felt confident enough that he wasn't seeing doubles and he reached out. His pinky grazed the metal, but his hand closed around nothing but air.

"Fuck." He cursed, clenching his fist and pounding it down onto his thigh.

Sam had the decency to look sympathetic as he pulled the keys away, stooping down to scoop Dean's legs up and drop them into the Impala's footwell.

"I would have gotten them if it wasn't so damn dark."

Dean's lame excuse elicited nothing more than a headshake from his little brother, but he saw the fond expression on the teen's face as he glanced over at Dean, patting him consolingly on the chest before stepping away from the car and pushing the door closed.

Dean scowled as he tracked Sam's slow uncoordinated journey around the vehicle, the only thing keeping the older boy from crossing his arms and full-on sulking, was the laceration on his head he had to put pressure on and his desire to hold onto the drop of dignity he had left.

His brother at least had enough sense not to look too cocky as he dropped down behind the wheel, but as the teen released a weary sigh, Dean bet it was exhaustion that curbed the celebration, not a lack of satisfaction.

"Drink the rest of this before you so much as think about turning that key." Dean instructed, passing over the half-full water bottle.

Sam relented, likely because he knew he had just won a fairly significant battle and Dean wouldn't allow him a second victory.

Sam downed the water and then leaned forward towards the steering wheel as he directed the Impala back onto the unlit country road, visibly uncomfortable as he did his best to keep away from the backrest.

Dean pulled off his coat, turning it inside out so the blood from his head wound that had leaked onto the fabric was concealed, before he rolled it up and held it in place up at the middle of Sam's spine where there were no injuries.

"Lean back." He instructed, only releasing the make-shift pillow once it was properly wedged between Sam and the leather.

"Thanks." Sam exhaled as he settled into place.

Dean nodded, resting his head back as he closed his eyes for a minute, wishing the world would stop shifting in and out of focus and that his head would stop pounding.

"Dean, you need to stay awake."

The older boy cracked an eye open at the instruction, rolling his head towards the driver. "Not going anywhere, Sammy." He slurred softly as he closed his eyes again – he knew sleeping after concussion was never a good idea, but he was fucking _exhausted_ and he knew he was confident enough that he wouldn't be dropping off into a coma anytime soon.

"I know, I mean – you have to stay awake for you, cause the concussion – but I also meant that I uhh, I need you to stay awake for me too. To keep me awake." Sam explained, sounding timid the way he did when he ever had to admit to any sort of failure to their father, sounding ashamed as though he wasn't living up to expectation. The kid never sounded like that when he spoke to Dean, and he never should.

"Yeah, little brother. I've got your back, don't worry." Dean assured, he was going to make a joke that there was no way he would risk damaging his car, but Sam's oddly anxious mood had the older boy swallowing the jest.

Dean forced his eyes open, sitting up a little straighter, keeping one eye on the road and one on his kid brother. He saw the teen shiver and immediately reached forward to turn up the heat, his hand overshooting the dial and having to backtrack before finding it.

"You sure you're okay? I mean, obviously not, but – how's your head?" Sam asked.

"It's fine. I'm fine." Dean assured.

The passenger watched as the younger boy visibly clenched both his jaw and the steering wheel.

"Yeah, sure. Stupid of me to ask." Sam mumbled under his breath as he steered the Impala around a wind in the road.

Dean frowned, he wasn't trying to blow the kid off, he was just doing what he had always done since the day he became a big brother – he was protecting Sammy. He hadn't done a great job during the hunt, the kid had been forced to fight off the creature on his own, he'd been drained by the fucking thing – that had all happened while Dean had crawled around uselessly on the ground. Sam had done a lot of the protecting that night and maybe he was still in protection-mode, which was something that Dean knew an awful lot about – and he knew it was hard as hell to shake. It was only fair that he help the teen out.

"Alright. My vision is still fucked and my brain feels like it's being crushed in a vice."

Sam's eyes were shining with worry as he glanced over, but he didn't appear to be panicking.

"I got my bell rung pretty good, but I'll be alright." Dean declared.

Sam was chewing on his bottom lip as he nodded and returned his attention to the road, though Dean didn't fail to notice that the rumble of the engine got a little louder as the Impala sped up.

"Your turn." The older boy declared, turning in his seat so he could rest his pounding head against the backrest without having to look away from his kid brother.

Sam raised an eyebrow, glancing to his right.

"I was honest with you, you have to do the same with me." Dean reasoned.

The teenager seemed like he was about to argue, but instead took a deep breath and chose a more appreciated course of action.

"It's just the bite and the cut, I'm not hiding anything else."

Dean was relieved by that fact at least, but he stared steadily and waited for an elaboration.

"Think it got more blood out of me than I thought it did."

The confession was nearly a whisper, but that didn't prevent it from hitting Dean aggressively hard. It wasn't information he hadn't been aware of, his little brother's shaky, pale state had told him just as much, but hearing it was different; which was the reason Dean always tried to downplay his injuries.

"We'll get you to the hospital and get you topped up in no time." The older boy assured Sam, or maybe himself – probably both.

Dean's word was true enough, the drive to the hospital only took about twenty more minutes. Every time they rolled into a new town, Dean always made sure to make note of where the nearest medical facility was, because no one could ever predict how a hunt would go down, or how it would go wrong.

By the time Sam parked the car as close to the emergency entrance as he could, the young boy was pale as snow and his hands were shaking so much that Dean had nearly reached over to grab the wheel a time or two. Dean moved out of the car, his hand tracing the smooth black surface to help keep the world level as he made his way quickly around to the driver's side.

Sam had the door open and was trying to push himself up, but his arms appeared unwilling to hold his weight.

"Alright, c'mon, kiddo." Dean encouraged as he hauled the slim frame from the vehicle.

"I'm good, Dean. I should be helping you." Sam argued, trying to pull away, but the move was clumsy at best.

"How about you be my eyes and I'll be your … everything else." The older boy compromised as he held Sam tight, refusing to let him pull away, knowing the kid was bound to land on his ass if he did.

"No, you can't carry me. Not anymore." Sam insisted with a frustrated slur.

"What the fuck are you say? C'mon, we need to get you inside." Dean huffed as he tugged Sam's arm across his shoulder, kicking the driver's door closed and guiding the trembling teen into the hospital.

Everything after that was a blur, not because Dean checked-out, he had a little brother to look after, but because it all happened so quickly.

Sam nearly collapsed and was promptly placed on a gurney, they tried to whisk him away, but Dean held onto the edge of the mobile metal bed and stumbled down the hall with it.

He remembered fighting hands that pushed him away from it – from _Sam_, and fighting harder when he heard his little brother calling out for him. Dean only calmed when one of the nurses threatened to sedate him if he didn't stay out of the way and stop causing trouble. Sam had been saying his name but it wasn't until Dean had stilled and stepped back that he realized his little brother wasn't pleading for him, he was begging the doctors to look at him. He was telling the physicians that were undressing him and flipping him on his side (to gain access to the wounds Dean told them were on the boy's back) that they had to help Dean.

The older boy could recall trying to assure the teenager that he was fine and to stop worrying about him, when Sam had suddenly passed-out. Dean panicked, but he managed to maintain a calm exterior because he had known it was bound to happen. The kid was down way too much blood and he knew Sam had only lasted as long as he had because of the power of adrenaline that flowed through a Winchester's body when they were protecting each other. Dean understood that form of adrenaline and how hard it caused you to crash when it dissipated, better than any human being on planet fucking earth.

Once the doctors were taking blood-pressure and sewing stitches, Dean allowed himself to be taken care of, but refused to move from the room. He sat in a chair as his face was cleaned, his laceration sterilized and stitched. He refused a head-scan, not willing to leave his kid alone and vulnerable, but Dean cooperated for the physical examination and swallowed the meds he was presented with as a nurse aided him in filling out the paperwork, unaware of course that she was being fed fraudulent information.

He called John, leaving a message that explained the situation, while remaining calm and in control. He knew their father likely wouldn't get the message for another couple days – the man tended to be single-minded when he was on a hunt and he wasn't supposed to be through with if for another couple days; that was why he had sent the boys out to survey the scene in preparation for the hunt they would all be completing upon his return later that week – or so Dean had been told, but he had his doubts. There were traitorous thoughts in his mind that told him tonight had never been about scouting the area, but rather an impromptu training session, because John often knew more than he ever let on. But Dean pushed such ideas away, not because they didn't hold any merit, but because he couldn't stand considering them.

Dean's calm façade didn't crumble until he was left alone in the hospital room, seated next to his unconscious little brother, watching the blood bag hanging from the pole slowly drain into the IV attached to the skinny arm.

He pulled the blanket further up on Sam's chest, content that the fabric actually had some weight to it unlike most hospital bedding. The doctor had expressed concern over Sam's temperature – due to the degree of blood loss - which was probably why the younger boy had a nice thick blanket. Dean had slid him back into his sweatshirt as well, something the nurse had given him the stink-eye about because it had taken some tricky maneuvering not to disturb all the medical equipment attached to the teen; but Dean had completed the task flawlessly and he wasn't about to let his kid lay there shivering just to make some bitchy nurse happy.

Dean reached up and slid those long brown bangs off the pale forehead, frowning at how much colour his brother's skin still lacked, but realizing that blood transfusions took time and improvement wouldn't be immediate.

The older boy sucked in a shaky inhale, trying to breathe through the wave of emotions that were currently overwhelming him. He propped his elbows onto the mattress and dropped his head into his hands, closing his eyes and willing away both the painful pulse in his skull and the fear trying to suffocate him. However, the darkness behind his closed eyelids didn't bring him any of the peace he was seeking, because every fucking time he closed his eyes the echo of Sammy's scream resounded through his mind and speared terror into his soul. He had heard his little brother's cry of pain, and he'd done nothing – he hadn't had a clue what was going on and he hadn't been able to so much as stand up. Sam had been left alone to save not only himself but his incapacitated big brother as well.

Dean could have lost his kid.

His entire world was nearly ripped away from him, and he had been powerless to stop it.

The thoughts of what could have been – of what almost was – became too much and Dean snapped his eyes back open and forced his head up, hoping that staring at the dull hospital walls would be a better escape.

He glanced down as he felt thin fingers slowly curl around his hand. He looked to the head of the bed to see a pair of hazel eyes staring over at him.

"Hey kiddo." He greeted, wishing his voice hadn't sounded quite so choked-up.

"You 'kay?" Sam rasped, contracting his fingers around Dean's as he focussed on him.

"Yeah, all good. We both got a couple of stitches, and you're getting some extra pints of the good stuff." Dean explained, nodding towards the blood bag.

Sam didn't bother to look at the mentioned object, but he nodded at the information.

The boys' sat in silence for a moment, Dean idly rubbing those cold fingers between his hands to get them nice and warmed up as he waited for Sam to fall back asleep – because even after the transfusion the kid was going to be exhausted for a few days trying to replenish all the blood that had been stolen from him.

"M'sorry, De."

The apology alone would have snagged Dean's attention, but the mournful tone in which it was delivered had him looking up at his brother in alarm.

Sam was biting down on his bottom lip, his eyes glistening with moisture, but face still dry.

"What the fuck are you apologizing for?" Dean questioned, scooting his chair closer as he frowned at the teenager.

Sam shrugged, his gaze tracking to the ceiling as he responded. "Everything? I let you get hurt and then almost hit a deer and probably made your concussion like ten times worse. I barely got you here and then I passed out before making sure you were okay." The younger boy explained, both frustrated and tearful.

Dean's mouth opened and closed a couple times before he was even able to wrap his head around everything that had just been said.

Because it was so fucking ridiculous - he didn't even know where to start.

"You passed out when we got to the hospital because you lost way too much blood – so much blood in fact that you're going to get a couple transfusions and that won't even make up for everything you lost. I mean, the _only_ reason you were able to stay conscious as long as you did was because you're stubborn as hell." Dean declared.

Sam didn't look sold on the argument, but he didn't argue, so that was something.

"Nobody can predict when a damn deer is going to sprint across the road and with the condition you were in, it's impressive you were able to avoid that dumbass animal at all."

"But you slammed your head."

"Yeah, but an accident would have done a lot more damage to the both of us, especially my head."

Sam pinched his lips but appeared to accept the reasoning.

"And as for the hunt, last I checked it wasn't you who clocked me in the noggin." Dean pointed out, not even sure how to approach proving a point that seemed so absurdly apparent.

Sam shook his head as he looked away, visibly rejecting his brother's words, leaving Dean feeling confused as to what he was missing.

"You killed the monster, dude, you saved both our asses."

Sam's head continued to move back and forth across the pillow, his eyes still watery as they wandered the room – seeming intent on avoiding the older boy at his side.

"Hey, stop avoiding me. I'm not going anywhere and we are both stuck here for at least six more hours, so _talk_ to me. What's going on in that big head of yours?" Dean prompted, gently tapping Sam's temple.

The teenager sucked in a stuttered inhale, his gaze finally landing back on his big brother before he spoke. "I should have looked out for you better."

"How? You shot the fugly in the head and practically carried me to the car, and then still managed to get me to the hospital."

"Yeah, _after_ you got hurt."

"By the supernatural sonuvabitch."

"But I should have stopped it."

"How?"

"I don't know! I just should have. I should have found a way!" Sam snapped.

"That doesn't make any sense." Dean muttered, which was odd, because Sam was usually irritatingly reasonable.

"I should have done better. I should have been able to protect you! I should have been able to remember the way back to the car—

"Why?" Dean nearly shouted.

"Because **you** would have!" Sam hollered.

Dean stalled, he didn't know what answer he had been looking for, but that hadn't been it.

He watched as his little brother visibly attempted to calm himself, and found him desperate to comfort the kid and rid him of the unwarranted shame he was currently radiating.

"I didn't protect you." Dean croaked. "You got hurt. You were a fucking monster-meal and I couldn't even stand up straight." He heaved in deep breath before continuing. "You screamed for me and I did _nothing_." Dean responded, his voice shaking - the words nearly as painful to say as the recollection was to relive.

Sam shook his head. "You were hurt and I should have protected you. I should have stepped up and I didn't – I couldn't." The younger boy proclaimed, the disgust in his voice not settling well at all with his big brother.

Dean opened his mouth to tell the teenager he was being an absolute moron, but snapped his jaw shut when he realized that wouldn't get him anywhere with Sam.

He took a moment to breathe and to think, because his brother had always been a complicated little shit and that didn't look like it was ever going to change – not even when Dean was suffering the effects of the concussion from hell.

"I need you to tell me what's really going on with you here, buddy. I mean, the guilt complex thing really isn't new for you, but blaming yourself for not being able to do the impossible is a bit ridiculous. You've never been this hard on yourself before." Dean mentioned, unable to think of a time when the kid had been so blindly and unnecessarily unfair to himself before.

"Things are different now." Sam replied quietly.

Dean's eyebrows rose. "What's different?"

"I have to be the one to protect you now."

"You've always protected me." Dean proclaimed.

Sam shook his head. "I have to do better, because…" He faded off.

"Because why?" The older boy inquired, wanting to understand the younger boy's reasoning so that he could properly oppose the twisted notions his brother had conjured.

Sam shrugged, releasing his hold on Dean's fingers as he tried to pull his hand away, but Dean only tightened his grip, refusing to let the teen pullback even a little.

"What's different, Sam? What am I missing here? Help me out. Please, Sammy." Dean wasn't one to plead, but he'd do anything for his kid.

He watched as the younger boy caved, because as quickly as Sam was growing up, there were some things that hadn't changed.

"I'm taller than you."

The statement was spoken with a weight to it that made it seem like it would explain everything, like it was some telling secret or revealing fact. But it was none of those.

"Finally figured that out, did ya!?" Dean commented with a quirk of a smile, poking teasingly at his brother's ribs.

Sam frowned, his eyebrows scrunching together as he stared in confusion at the hunter.

"You've been taller than me for like two months, kiddo." Dean supplied.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sam asked, as though something detrimental had been concealed from him.

Dean shrugged. "I knew you would notice eventually. Besides, I was in no rush to be mocked mercilessly."

Sam still looked perplexed, so Dean continued.

"I mean, I've been making fun of you for your entire life from being a little midget, I was sure when you realized you'd outgrown me that you would start dishing it all back." Dean smirked.

Sam tried for a smile, but the twisted little grin just made him look more upset.

That was the moment everything came into focus and Dean finally felt like he found some fraction of understanding. He thought back to all the weird things he had heard Sam say that night, all the unnecessary apologies and the strange comments about how things weren't the same.

"It that what this is about? Has your giant brain got you thinking that just because you grew a couple inches you're now responsible for everything?"

"Not everything." Sam muttered.

"So just me, then? You're responsible for what happens to me?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm the bigger brother."

Dean's face scrunched up at that. "No, you're not."

"I am! I have been for months apparently."

"You're taller."

"Yeah, I'm bigger."

"No, you're _taller_."

"Dean." Sam sighed in his patented don't-make-me-pull-out-the-dictionary-again tone.

"You're a couple inches taller, but you're still just skin and bones. I could still take you down." Dean added with a wink.

Sam did not seem entertained, worry still painted all over the young face.

Dean sighed. "And even if you were 'bigger' it wouldn't matter, Sam. You could be Hulk fucking Hogan or turn into some sort of gargantuan sasquatch, it wouldn't change a thing. That wouldn't make you responsible for everything, it wouldn't make everything your fault." Dean clarified, leaning in close to ensure eye contact was maintained, because he needed his kid to hear this, to really hear it. "No matter what, I will always be your big brother, Sammy. _Always_. You got that?"

A single tear slipped from one of those watery eyes and slid slowly down Sam's cheek as he slowly nodded, his hand clinging once again to Dean's as his gaze remained locked on the older Winchester.

"That's my boy." Dean praised softly, his voice rough with emotions as he deftly wiped the tear from the pale face.

"I'll still protect you. I'll always have your back." Sam vowed, the intensity of his stare almost too much for his brother.

"I know you will. You always have, since you were just an ankle-biter. Even when I didn't want you to have to worry about anything, you've always looked out for me in your own way." Dean insisted, saying something he had always known to be true but rarely proclaimed.

"I always try to keep you safe, just like you keep me safe." Sam whispered.

Dean nodded. "You do. But you're usually a little less bossy about it than you were tonight." He teased, inwardly cheering when his comment was rewarded with a small smirk from the younger boy.

"I was channeling my big brother." Sam replied, sounding cheeky enough to be playful but the steady look telling Dean that there was honesty within the statement.

"You were, weren't you?" Dean realized, thinking back to all of the gruff commands and frustrated fear that had been coming out of a boy who had never been prone to such things.

Sam shrugged under the scrutiny. "You're the best big brother there is. I figured if I acted like you do than I wouldn't fail." He confessed, sounding far too genuine.

Dean shook his head. "You've never failed at anything – you sure as fuck have never failed me; and you've never ever had to be anyone other than you." Dean declared, poking at the teen's chest.

The wide puppy dog eyes focussed on him as his little brother appeared to be absorbing every word Dean spoke, as if the older boy had said something that Sam had never known to be true.

Dean looked away, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, there was no way he was going to start crying after he had just staked a claim in his role as the big brother.

"Dean."

The older boy hummed a sound so Sam would know he had been heard, but he refused to look at the teenager or try and speak in that moment for fear of being overwhelmed with the emotions he was trying to reign back in.

"Did the doctor poke you with a syringe of freezing before stitching your face up?"

Dean nodded, a little thrown by the question sailing out of left field.

"I think he might have accidently given you a shot of estrogen instead."

Dean frowned at the odd statement and instinctively glanced back over at his little brother, the cheeky little grin telling him everything he needed to know. Sam was tossing Dean a lifeline – the kid loved chick-flick moments, but he was saving his big brother from the one they had just created because he knew how they made the older boy uncomfortable. Sam was saving Dean in one of those million little ways he always did. He was protecting his big brother from something as simple as emotional discomfort.

Sam had always looked out for Dean, and though he didn't always do it in the same blatant and aggressive way the other members of his family tended to, he never failed at it.

"Shut-up, Bitch." Dean replied with a laugh, sending a grateful smile to the boy who had always been, and would forever be, his hero.

"Try and make me, Jerk." Sam responded, pinching the Dean's palm until the freckled man pulled his hand away.

"You little shit."

"At least I'm not a giant girl." Sam laughed, reaching up to tug Dean's hand back down to rest on the mattress, but instead of pinching it again he wrapped his long fingers back around it as he relaxed into the mattress – a small smile still on his face as he closed his eyes.

Dean snickered, returning his little brother's grip as he smoothed the blanket that had been disturbed during Sam's distress. He had been expecting the teen to make a short-joke, but he thought maybe Sam wasn't ready for that. And perhaps the youngest Winchester never would be, but that was okay because Dean would make certain that his kid always understood that no matter how tall he grew – there would never be a day where Dean wouldn't be able to carry him.

Sam would always be his little brother, his priority, and Dean would always do whatever it took to protect him.

They would always look out for each other, just as they had been doing all their lives.

It had always been Sam and Dean against the world.

And it always would be.

Until the end.

* * *

Note: It's a week late, but like 2x longer than it was supposed to be, so hopefully that makes up for the delay. I would love to hear your thoughts on this piece, it caused me a bit of trouble so it'd be great to hear what ya'll think! Also, if you have any interest in sending your appreciation monetarily, you are welcome to buy me a coffee at: ko-fi(dotcom)/samjeller. I'm saving up for a new laptop so I can actually write a full page of a fic without being bombarded by that lovely blue screen of death! ;) Thanks for reading! - Sam


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